I�ve been to Berlin.

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I am not let down� *big grin*.

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So let�s put the last entry in some context, shall we?

Last Friday, my mom and I are waiting for my dad to pick us up, as we�re going to go see the Broadway production of the Lion King. She�s looking at me, and she says, �Delphi, why do you have pimples?� I sort of sigh and go, �Mom, sometimes my skin just isn�t at its best. That�s all.� It�s not like I have acne. I just have some blemishes. But I have nice skin, so having a few blemishes is having pimples to my mother�s discerning eye. She then proceeds to start suggesting facial cleansers, offering me some of hers, and then she outlines a few extra procedures that would keep my skin up to par. I�m like, �Mom� I don�t do that kind of stuff,�--she�s talking multi-step procedures here--�I like my face wash.� And so to get the subject off of cleanser options, I say, �I think it�s just because I haven�t been eating well. Between finals, applications, and just having gone to LA, I�ve been eating out a lot. That�s all.� It was true. I hadn�t really been taking care of myself.

Now, understand: the words �I�m not eating well� coming from one of her daughters is like uttering a small blasphemy. She immediately begins taking orders for Costco.

Then Sunday we had a mini-spat because she feels that I haven�t been as on top of my college applications as I could be. Her worry level regarding this is an 8.5 (on a scale of 1 to 10), while mine is about a four. (Personally, I like to keep my worry level below six no matter what; imho, �worry� does not beat �rational assessment� when it comes to producing efficiency and getting results.) Maybe, at its worst, the situation warrants a five. So while I could be a smidge more worried, she should be a good deal less worried. So it goes, and that�s all there was behind it. We didn�t talk for about an hour. My laundry finished itself, and so it was time to go, and we started packing up food for me to take home. This soothed us mightily.

I am your mother. I am giving you food so that you will eat well.
I am your daughter. I know that if I ask you for something I need, you will give it, and more.
Did you want some bell peppers?
Sure!

So I came home with bags and bags of groceries, which forced me to clean out the last of the fermenting leftovers in my fridge. Lesson learned: Don�t refuse good things just because you�ve got other stuff to deal with. Accept the good things, and the other stuff will be forced to take care of itself. (In the past, I�ve said No to mom�s groceries because I still needed to clean out my fridge. The more fool me.)

All that to say: My so-far exceptionally good week began with a fridge full of fresh food. As, I think, many good things begin, so keep that in mind.

All my application stuff rapidly resolved itself; the painting of my soon-to-be desk room is going spectacularly well (bright orange! looks great!); and then last night�s nuit d�amour. My video game playing is �under control-, and I am reading, and writing some excellent short poems.

Today was continuing good; I got the grey for the room�s trim, and proceeded to discover that it looked perfect. Christianna came over to help, which resulted in us putting together a top-flight dinner which we ate upon the floor of my bedroom, complete with candles and wine. Alex calls and says, Come to poker at Greg�s house! I say, Okay!

These are the Greg�s House Poker Players, Aaron B being one of them. Va va voom! What, am I supposed to leave the house wearing my grubbies after painting all day? No sir. No sir indeed.

The poker was good. We had a visitor from out of town who fleeced us. Yikes. But the table saw some good action, and I certainly had a piece of it, though I lost just enough to leave the house carrying my buy-in.

And Aaron B was there�he did not let me down. He remembered our last conversation, which I daresay was nearly a month ago. You were on my mind too, baby. We both broke even, and I beat him on the extra by forty cents. ; P

I like him. I do. I�m willing to put my chips in, and I think he is, too. I like him and I like his friends, and his friends like me. I feel good around these people. Like I am respected, like we can be silly. They are mature in all the right places, and they ask me to come around again. We�re slow-playing it because we know we have a winning hand.

Enough with the poker metaphors!

Anyway, I am additionally complemented because Robin likes me. Just likes me. I am complemented because he is one of the best poker players of the bunch, and he has come to respect me; and he is a bit of a ringleader among them, and he consistently asks me back. He�s also noticing the Aaron-signals, and smiles because he thinks it�s cute. And he�s been a friend among them for a long time, so I�m glad it seems he approves.

Aaron seems to be one of those guys that doesn�t catch a girl�s subtle positives, just takes them as further evidence of how nice/cool/keen I am. He acts as if he likes me, but has no idea where he stands. That�s funny to me, because in my mind, I�m speaking pretty distinctly to him. I�m just gonna have to lay a hand on that boy to get my point across.

4:17 a.m. 2004-06-10�